Wednesday, 18 August 2010

• Burr-Boy

  
  I’ve probably mentioned this before, but for those of you that haven’t been reading lately, there is a fenced-in area just outside of the kennel where The Sam is staying. During our visits, we bring him out there for fresh air, tanning (haha) and exercise. We call this time, “The Sam’s nature walks”.
  
  Although the area is concrete with metal fencing, the place itself is wooded, and there are bushes that grow along most of the fencing (The Sam loves to gum the leaves and rub the sides of his face against them). There is a pond and more bushes and flowers just downhill from where his kitty-condo window is. There are a lot of ducks and other birds (There are bird feeders in all of the trees outside of the kitty condo windows.), and tons of butterflies.
  
  There are also chipmunks. A lot of chipmunks. I would go as far as to say, metric butt-load of chipmunks. They are cute, little, and they dart around.
  
  Did I ever tell you that The Sam doesn’t like little things that move quickly? Yeah. It bothers him. He feels the need to lay the paw down, to stop whatever is moving from moving... ever again, in most cases.
  
  The Sam has had his eye on the chipmunk population since Day One.
  
  Yesterday, The Sam found the fence’s weakest spot near the bushes. I was inside, cleaning out his condo; Ken went out on the nature walk with The Sam. As I swept out the condo, I saw Ken running... on the other side of the fence.
  
  Shit! You see, all of my maternal worry buttons were pushed at once: He could have cut himself open with the gate somehow; one of the bigger dogs could escape and eat him; he could stumble upon a hornets nest and be stung/bitten to death; he could fight with another animal and get Rabies or something; he could get lost, and with no teeth, The Sam would have a difficult time surviving. (I needn’t have worried about that last bit; he only went far enough to grab at a chipmunk, about five feet from the fencing. The chipmunk escaped when Ken startled the cat and picked him up.)
  
  Then I saw Ken carrying The Sam back to the building. Our grey and white longhaired kitty was green. Yes. Green. The Sam was half-covered in burrs... those sticky little green things that are shaped like berries.  They don’t hurt, like thorns, but with each burr removed, a little of the cat’s fur comes off with it... and there were well over a hundred on The Sam, some in quite sensitive places. 
  
  “You are grounded, mister!” I said, opening the door so that my husband could escort our kitty back inside. “Look at you!”
  
  It took more than half an hour to get all of the burrs off of The Sam (using a brush, a comb and our fingers). He was not happy; he alternately cried and hissed with each sticky little berry. As soon as he was cleaned up, he went to the door and began crying to be let outside.
  
  “I don’t think so, little man,” I said.
  
  Today, The Sam “escaped” twice (He has found three weaknesses at the bottom of the fence altogether. We call them Tom, Dick and Harry). We don’t want to deprive him of his nature walks, but I don’t want to worry about him every time he steps out (and none of us are enjoying the burr-removal part of our visits!)... So we have decided to buy a harness and leash, and take him out for “real” nature walks (Hopefully, we can steer him away from those bushes!).
  
  Chipmunks beware!
  
  
  
  P.S.: Ken gave our kitty a new nickname today: Samuel Burr (The younger, plumper, slightly hairier brother of famous actor, Raymond Burr).
  
  

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